The Folly of Men
by jiemae
Summary: Draco's father has made mistakes—one too many to be forgiven easily. When a healer introduces a dealer, Lucius Malfoy will never be the same. [Dramione, rekindled Lucissa, 4/20 y'all]


**A/N** : tis the season y'all. have a very merry 4/20! this'll be a four part, 20k story (ofc) with an epilogue, and honestly, this fic took a direction that surprised the heck out of me. it turned less into the crack-fic I thought it was going to be, and into a redemption fic that I never thought I'd write for Lucius motherfuckin' Malfoy.

Each chapter starts off with lyrics from Frank Sinatra's "My Way", which I think really captures the feeling I want this fic to inspire.

* * *

 _Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew  
When I bit off more than I could chew  
But through it all, when there was doubt  
I ate it up and spit it out  
I faced it all and I stood tall  
And did it my way_

* * *

 **The Folly of Men**

—too proud for their own good.

 _3rd June, 2003_

Since leaving Hogwarts, Lucius had made nothing but mistakes with his life. Nothing else. One erroneous decision after the other, a great many collections of irrevocable memories that not even an obliviate charm could wipe away the stains of.

Or at least that was what Narcissa had said before she left, and Lucius was loathe to somewhat agree.

He should have never sided with the Dark Lord, that he was absolutely certain of, but _everything_? Surely, he'd done some good for others in his adult life. What about all of those charities he'd donated to, all those fundraising events he'd gone to? It wasn't like he _had_ to give away hundreds of his Galleons, and on paper at least, he'd be known as the most generous Malfoy to ever live, given just how much he'd emptied out of the Gringotts account for the betterment of society (and society's view of him, but honestly, that was just a bonus).

So, perhaps it was a—slight—exaggeration. Or, perhaps it was not an exaggeration at all, a very quiet voice in the back of his head said.

Lucius had to admit; what he was doing now could be regarded as nothing but a mistake.

But then again, what was a drop in an already full bucket? If it would tip over anyway, what was the harm in a little added fun along the way?

"That'll be three hundred and fifty six pounds," the pock-marked, rod-thin, red-nosed, red-eyed Muggle teen said, with an inflection that grated on Lucius's ears. His name was Paul Baker, and he'd lied when he said he was twenty-one, of that Lucius was certain.

Nevertheless, he dug into the pockets of his robe and handed the wad of bills over, and waited anxiously to be given the ounce of marijuana he'd just purchased.

An experience of a lifetime, that's what Lucius's Healer, Cornelius Yaxley, had said. Nothing Wizard-made could top it, something that Lucius very much doubted but was desperate enough to try out. If it was as foretold, then he would be able to quit drinking from dusk till dawn just to force something down his throat.

Merlin only knew, Lucius hadn't had much of an appetite after returning from his stint in Azkaban, and not even five years out had he recovered.

"This is too mu—" Paul paused, continued counting the bills and shook his head, eyes wide. "Actually, you got it just right. Here," he said vacantly, reaching into his obscenely bright orange fanny pack, and pulled out a pungent smelling bag stuffed with what looked like herbs.

With a curled lip, Lucius took it. _This_ was what Cornelius had raved about? Surely, not.

"If you need any more, just hit me up," Paul said, looking much too happy for anyone, ever to be standing in front of a Wimpy fast food restaurant. "Baker Incorporated delivers only _the_ freshest, _the_ dankest, _the,_ you-know, best quality _tea_ ," he winked _,_ "there is to be offered in London. So, uh, yeah, that's about it for me, my good sir—hit me up, 'kay, mate?"

It took all the effort in his body to force himself to smile at the Muggle, and even then, it was more of a grimace. Lucius vowed, upon reflection, never to do that again as he walked around the corner, headed into a gap between two buildings, and Apparated back to the Manor, desperate for a shot of firewhisky.

 **.**

 **.**

He was alone in his home, save for the house-elves he preferred to ignore on bad days like the one he was having. Narcissa had gone to her sister's, that blood traitor Andromeda Tonks, where that half-breed Metamorphmagus was sure to be. Lucius had not seen her since the war, but Narcissa had been visiting on and off—for years, she admitted quietly just before The Fight. He couldn't believe his ears when she'd said that, but he felt numb to it now.

She'd been there for weeks already and Lucius was afraid to admit to himself how much longer it would be until she returned. It didn't matter, he told himself. Narcissa could do what she pleased. She'd always done what she pleased, ever since they were in school and doing what she pleased was sneaking them into a broom closest to snog rather than attend another boring Divinations class.

He missed her. He missed _them_.

Being young and carefree, with nothing weighing them down. The future had not yet happened, still looming ahead, bursting with possibilities and chances to _do_ something, to become something _great_.

They married young, and had seven long years to themselves before their son was born. Years, blissfully ignorant years, was how long Lucius spent sowing the seeds to his downfall, though he didn't know it then, as the Dark Lord has still just been a business venture. They'd been the happiest then.

Lucius had been on top of the world, and he was going to bring the Malfoy name into even further greatness.

Despite the Dark Lord. Despite horrors he'd witnessed. Despite the acts of unforgivable violence he himself caused. They had been happy, because Draco had just been born and he was such a small thing, smiling with those bright eyes of his—eyes that would never darken—and nothing seemed so awful if he was alive, and happy.

A lot had happened since then. Decisively, _too much_ , if Lucius was ever asked for his opinion. No one ever did, not that he cared anymore.

Five years and the only people who still invited him to anything were those that he'd found himself making mistakes with in the first place.

Death Eaters. He scoffed.

The name had always been nonsensical to him—as if any of them could figure out a way to avoid death. It was a doubt Lucius had always had with the Dark Lord. That doubt remained, even after his revival, because Lucius knew, had known since the death of his father, that death was inescapable.

Look at Nicolas Flamel today, rotting like everyone else, buried since '96.

"Try, try, try as you might," he muttered into his tumbler, "death finds everyone."

Lucius was beginning to think that was a very good thing.

Disappointed as he was that the Dark Lord had failed again, he couldn't deny that he had been glad in equal parts. It was almost a comfort, knowing his family would never have to be under the hand of such a deranged man again. He had Harry Potter to thank for that, though he could never stomach acknowledging that to anyone but himself.

Did he think he had been wrong to side with the Dark Lord's ideals? That was a difficult question, and it was one Draco had asked him before—only a week ago—he, too, had left.

Lucius couldn't deny it; he still indignantly clung to them. How could he not? It wasn't just because he'd grown up with them, but because he had once believed so firmly, so righteously, that even now, years after the deciding war, Lucius still couldn't help but contemplate if things could have been different.

He only wanted the best for pureblooded society, to be safe from the possibility of being discovered, of being hunted as they had been in the past for their magic. Inferiority breeded jealousy after all, and unless those who were superior had proper control, then those below would always seek to destroy those above. History made great example of that.

However, and it was truly unfortunate, a world where wizards and witches were in their proper place could never be brought about without violence, destruction, and a great deal of death. It could never be a reality, because the truth of the matter was... he had been wrong to ever want such a thing.

Oh, yes, he didn't care that he was still wrong; he would always hate Muggles and hate the means that the Wizarding world had to go to in keeping themselves secret. It would always itch, that sensation of _knowing_ Muggles would never understand their place in the world.

But the defeat had sunk in already.

If the Dark Lord succeeded, Lucius had no doubt it would an inglorious world, wrapped in smoke, drenched in the muck of blood, where the dust from the rubble never settled, and no one felt safe enough to breathe a word of truth. The pretty picture that Lucius had been told to expect had long since been destroyed, to the point that he couldn't even recall what _had_ been Voldemort's end goal. Lucius still wondered now, if the Dark Lord had also forgotten.

It had been a mistake to trust him, to trust in that childish dream and want of a future so different than the one he was living.

Alas, mistakes were not just dispassion towards others or uncareful decisions, but grevious wounds of the heart, bleeding ever so profusely that one might think it would never stop hurting. Mistakes were taken on knowingly, though more often than not, it would appear at the time as the right thing to do, the only thing to do.

Lucius tipped his head back to finish off the whisky in his hand.

It was pride, Lucius thought, that had a way of making mistakes look a lot like accidents. Or, in the worst of cases, justified. But he had never been so delusional as to think, after all had been said and done, that what he'd done throughout the war had been right.

Truth was though, he didn't regret it and he probably never would.

Abraxas Malfoy, his father, had been a proud man, in the same way that Lucius Malfoy would be known—in the same way Lucius knew himself. He had become his father in the worst and best of ways, and if asked what his biggest regret was, and if he was feeling honest, he would say this:

"The way I've raised my son. I only hope my son does better, despite me and all I've ever taught him. Otherwise, I fear I'm the one who ruined him."

 **.**

 **.**

Lucius discovered, a full week later, that he liked smoking weed.

It made him feel... lighter, relaxed. Happier.

His wife and son were still gone, doing only Merlin knows what, but rather than mourn as he had been the first week they were gone, he was learning something about himself. He _liked_ to eat.

It was an oddity, one he granted as a side effect of smoking, but it was a good one all the same. It was Narcissa's greatest concern that he wasn't eating enough, that he wasn't moving around enough, that he didn't leave the house enough. (Had she always been such a _nag_?)

He'd started doing all three of those things again since the start of his newest habit, something he would be pleased to show to Cissa if she returned. _When_ she returned.

Lucius took to eating whatever it was that his house-elf Dorthy had prepared him, and with reinvigorated energy he hadn't had in bloody years, Lucius was doing something he hadn't done since he was in his twenties; Luscius was dancing. Which he was bloody good at, even if he was doing it alone.

And now, here he was, getting out of the house again, the second time this week—the first had been to visit that Wimpy restaurant he'd met Paul at and he found he quite liked the dish called _burgers_ , messy as they could be—and he would soon be meeting Paul again, for another ounce.

"Whaddup, homie!" Paul greeted, in that way Paul tended to, with a hand raised up and a very wide grin. Lucius sighed, but because the teen was a deliverer of the goods, he couldn't exactly snap at him the way he would to anyone else.

"Yes, hello," he said, looking at Paul down his nose. "Let's hurry this up, shall we?"

Paul's grin faltered but only for a moment, as it was soon made even wider as Lucius reached into his robes to retrieve the stack of bills he'd prepared. "Will this be enough?"

"Oh, _yeah_ , mate," Paul said, counting them out, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "This will definitely be enough. Here, this is a hybrid strain," he explained, reaching into his fanny pack. "Honestly, it's the best one we've made yet—the high? Priceless, but for you, we put one on it and made it readily available, anytime you want to hit up Baker Incorporated. I'm your guy, 'kay, mate?" Paul gave a giddy laugh as he passed off the pungent bag. "Oh, and some tips, 'cause I can smell the _ganja_ on you from here, breath mints are your best friend."

"Breath mints?" Lucius echoed, perplexed.

Paul snickered and hit Lucius's shoulder, nearly bowling over with laughter. "Sound's like you never heard of them, and hell, I believe it."

Lucius stared at the offending hand, and itched to grab his wand. He wasn't sure what a breath mint was, but he was certain Paul had just insulted him.

"Oh, woah, mate, _chill_ , no need to look like you're gonna murder me," Paul said hurriedly. "We're just having fun, here, right?"

"I don't have _fun_ ," Lucius grunted, sliding the bag of weed into his pockets, and, in turning away with a great flick of his robes, he damn near ran away.

 **.**

 **.**

"I can tell that you don't have fun," Paul said first thing next time he saw him. "Got the look of you that you've never had a day of fun in your life."

Lucius stared at him.

"Okay, okay, between me's and you's, we can _change_ that," Paul told him, and hit his arm again, leaning in to whisper, "There's this party, ya hear? I can take you there. It's a small one, though, don't get your expectations too wild, else you'll be disappointed, and we can't have that, defeats the point."

"And why, exactly would I go anywhere with _you_?"

"Hey, hey, no need to take a note like that with me. Friend, mate, buddy, I'm offering something to you, something you look like you need."

"And what would that be?" Lucius drawled dispassionately, irked by the familiarity in which Paul was trying to speak to him. How dare he? How _dare_ he? Lucius had the itch to pull one last Avada, and it spoke of his irritation levels that he actually considered it.

Paul's smile turned hesitant but was no less genuine. "Isn't it obvious? I'm offering you the nicest thing anyone can give anyone; _friendship_."

"I'm not interested," Lucius grunted. "Now give me what I've come here for."

"Alright, alright, but the offer still stands, 'kay, mate? I think, if you weren't so prickly, it'd be nice to smoke a pipe with you, that's all I'll say about that, okay. Anyway, you know the drill by now, hit me up anytime you have the need for weed—I'm your guy, buddy-pal."

"Not likely," Lucius sneered, but left in much less haste.

 **.**

 **.**

Four weeks later, and Lucius was eating his words.

Almost literally as he stood in the convenience store, waiting for Paul to finish paying for the gas in his car. A very new car, Paul had said, beaming when he'd arrived at Wimpy's. Everything seemed new about Paul these days; a new suit—Italian, he'd called it—and new fanny pack—neon green this time—and new shoes, which seemed ill-suited to Paul's current lifestyle, but made Paul hopeful that things would be different in the future.

Lucius envied him of that.

"You're paying for that, right?" the attendant asked, a woman with curled red hair that reminded him of old time foes.

Lucius finished the last bite of corn dog he'd gotten off the 'conveyor'—whatever Paul had called it last time they were there—and couldn't believe how good it tasted despite how utterly grotesque it looked.

"Of course," Lucius said, getting his wallet out—something Paul had insisted on getting him, and fine, maybe it was actually helpful—of the jeans that Paul had forced him into, which looked _awful_ on him, but in the current company of Muggles, he found that he did not actually care.

"I'll get the munchies, mate," Paul said brightly, coming up behind him with his arms stuffed with food, _junk_ food, that Lucius was loathe to admit he'd become familiar with in the past few weeks.

Merlin, he could not believe the direction his life had taken.

"Your dad?" the girl asked, and Paul seemed to know her well. The tag on her unflattering shirt read 'Tiffany'.

"No way. He's a mate," Paul explained, and blinked his bright blue eyes, seeming perplexed she had to ask.

It struck Lucius then how alarmingly Paul looked similar to a face he thought he knew quite well. His own son's. Of course, Paul's blond was a much darker shade, and his skin and nail care was horrid, but all the same, the similarities were startling. Like their noses, _his_ nose, and the arch of their brows and nicely sculpted chin.

No, Lucius was not as surprised as he thought he would be to be mistaken as the father of a Muggle.

Paul spent a bit of time talking to Tiffany, and Lucius took the time to look at the store's wares, disappointed as always to find they had nothing like what one could find at Honeydukes. _Merlin_ , he missed Honeydukes.

He hadn't been there in years. Of course, he could always send Dorthy to shop there, but it really wasn't the same as being there. Nothing was as good as being there, and Lucius could not see himself making the trip any time soon. Possibly ever.

"What's got you in a gloom?" Paul asked as they left, and Lucius could only sigh. "Oh, c'mon, mate, cheer up. Duke got a new strain for us to try, that's a right joy, innit?"

"I suppose," Lucius said, albeit reluctantly. Very carefully, he asked, "Duke is the large man covered in tattoo markings, isn't he?"

"Yeah, thick as a rock, but has a way with the _ganja_ , lemme tell you." Paul laughed merrily at that as he is wont to do. "But listen, he liked you last time you were there, he'll like you this time too."

"I'm not concerned about such trifle things," he muttered, stepping into the passenger seat of the car.

"I can't believe she thought you were my dad," Paul was saying as he activated the car. Mostly to himself, he added, "I've never met my dad before. Or my mum, for that matter—was raised by my grandmum."

Lucius noticed the glances Paul kept sneaking at him. "I assure you, I am not your father."

"Well, what if you _were_ , though? And we both just didn't know it? Do you even remember all of the women you've slept with?"

At that, Lucius couldn't help but laugh. "It just so happens that I do."

"Yeah? How big is this number we're talking?"

"Just one."

Paul raised his brows, and looked over incredulously. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"She your wife or something?"

"She has been for forty years," Lucius said quietly.

"Where'd you two meet?"

"At school. A boarding school, I suppose is what you'd call it. We've known each other since she began attending, as I was a year ahead of her. She had the most beautiful blue eyes, still does, though I haven't had the chance to see them for months."

Paul's voice was a whisper. "Did she _die_?"

"No," Lucius snapped. "She left me."

He gasped, and swerved, very nearly knocking into an older woman, who scuttled away with a scream. "For another bloke?" he asked as soon as he got the car in order and had sped away.

"No. Worse. Her _sister._ " Lucius couldn't speak the word without curling his lip.

This time, when Paul swerved, he knocked into a rubbish bin, sending the contents spattering across the sidewalk. Paul winced and sped up again. "Sorry, mate. Didn't expect an answer like that."

"It was unexpected for me as well," Lucius said stiffly. "Ruined the family. My son left me soon after, and I suspect it's because his mother told him to. He's always gravitated towards her, more so than me, even after all I've done for him. For the past few months it's just been me, me and Dorthy."

"Dorthy? Your dog?"

Lucius blinked. Dogs were such mangy beasts, and they tended to remind him of Sirius Black. He shook his head. "A cat."

"What kind?"

At that, Lucius frowned. "A kneazle?"

Paul blinked. "Is that a new breed or something?"

"Or something," Lucius agreed.

Chatter like that when on for the few minutes it took to arrive at Duke's place, pulling up to a very old part of London, where every brick on every building looked like it needed to be replaced with a new one, and cars were not nearly as nice as the one Paul had. Duke lived on the second floor of the tallest, and possibly the newest, building. It was quite aways from the parking lot though, and though Paul seemed unconcerned, Lucius did not have as much faith in Muggles not to steal.

Lucius cast a protection charm on the vehicle as soon as Paul's back was turned, and somehow, felt his shoulders lighten at the small act. Not as if he'd done a good deed, but that he'd done something at all, even small, for a Muggle.

Duke greeted them with a bump of fists—though Lucius got away with a firm acknowledging nod—and took them into his living room, where three other men already sat on the couch, faces turned to the big square television on a large dresser. He took it to mean that this was both a living room and a bedroom, and Lucius shuddered at the thought. He had never understood how anyone, Muggle and wizardkind alike, could manage to live in such tiny homes.

"Spongebob!" Paul said cheerfully and joined the three others on the couch, of whom Lucius could only recognize one. He'd met Andrew Petersburg at Lucius's first and _last_ Muggle party he would ever attend. Such events seemed to be an alcoholic's wet dreams and Lucius had been doing his duty on cutting back since Cissa left.

But since going, Lucius marked himself a changed man. He had never seen so many people packed in such a tiny space, all of them seemingly under the influences of booze and other mysterious drugs that Lucius had tried out, like ecstasy and cocaine. Never again, he'd vowed after the effects of which not even a Pepper Up potion could erase.

"Hey, it's Lucy!" Andrew greeted from his spot on the far left of the couch.

"Ugh, what an incorrigible pet name," Lucius growled, and took up root against the wall, with not enough room to join the others. "What is this atrocity of a program you're watching?" he asked, squinting at the offending colors.

"Spongebob Squarepants," Paul explained. "It might be a Yank show, but it's a quality show nonetheless."

"You call _this_ quality?"

"Of course! It has everything! Plot, characters, backstory, setting, funny jokes, and to top it all off, a memorable voice voice cast that elevates it all to a show that will be in the memories of younguns for generations to come. I'm promising, even your grandkid will know of this."

Lucius kept his silence for a moment, watching the screen with a bit more attention and cringed at the grating voice of the square character that _had_ to be Spongebob—what a horrid name. "Yes, _memorable_ , indeed."

A dark-skinned man, with hair even more unkempt than that of Hermione Granger's, began to laugh, jabbing a thumb in Lucius's direction. "This bloke remind you of anyone?"

"Squidward," Paul and Andrew answered immediately.

"Squidward?" Lucius echoed, offended. How could he be similar to anyone with a name as obscene as _that_?

"Here, take a hit, it'll help you relax," Duke said, handing Lucius a blunt, looking on at the others with amusement.

Lucius took a long drag and passed it off to Paul's waiting hand.

"And what's _your_ name?" Lucius asked the man who'd pointed out his non-existent similarities to a fictional character.

"Jared. And this is my cousin, Pablo." Jared held out his hand, revealing better the scars and tattoos that lined up his arm and hand. Lucius took it and gave it a firm pump before holding his hand out to Pablo, who offered a similar treatment.

"Any friend of Paul's is a friend of ours," Pablo assured him, smiling. "Though, I do have to ask, who the bloody hell are you?"

"Lucius Malfoy," he announced and when the blunt got passed back to him, took another drag, blowing out the smoke in puffs.

There was a time that name meant something.

"Name of a villian, looks of a villain—hey, are you in the mafia or something?" Jared asked.

"Or something," he agreed to settle on for the second time that day. Not as if he could go explaining the actual truth of things.

"Didn't I tell you guys? He's a complete mystery," Paul commented, taking a hit. "Doesn't really understand the way the world works either, and he's supposed to be turning _fifty_ this year. Can't drive a car or nothing, but he's absolutely _loaded_ so I think other people do that for him."

"Fifty?" Duke was alarmed. "You don't look a day over forty."

Lucius burst into laughter. "Forty? Don't know many old men, do you?"

"No," Duke admitted. "But I know a couple of thirty year olds, and you don't look _that_ much older."

"Well, I suppose it has been five years," he muttered, more to himself. Five years ago, he'd looked as if he'd aged a hundred years, what with his white-blond hair, ghastly complexion, and the stress-induced wrinkles that had seemed to age him considerably. He hadn't thought there was going back from that, but he supposed he had been more relaxed recently than he had been in years.

"Five years?" Paul echoed, genuine concern in his eyes.

Lucius said nothing to that, simply held his hand out for the blunt. The drag he took was longer than any other and he seemed to forget to breathe for a moment, pulling back to release the pent up smoke. _That_ felt good, he decided as his shoulders slumped and everything appeared to be much warmer.

"Spongebob, eh?" he muttered to himself and studied the television.

Seemed about time to get himself one, didn't it?

 **.**

 **.**

"Father? Father? Where are you and why do these rooms _stink_ so bad?" Draco's voice came and Lucius looked to the doorway where his son eventually popped his head through. "What are you _doing_?" he exclaimed, taking in the smoke that hung wispily in the air, as well as the Lazy Boy recliner Lucius was sat in and the large, state of the art television, he was in front of.

"I'm smoking the _ganja_ ," Lucius said, and hunched over to contain his laughter. "And watching Spongebob Squarepants," he added upon seeing the confusion on his son's face, and began to laugh wildly again when it only deepened it. "Forgive me, this strain of marijuana gives me the chuckles. I can't seem to help myself."

Draco was at a loss for words, stepping into the room and walking circles around the recliner before finally, after minutes had passed and Lucius had turned his attention back to the cartoon, he asked, "What happened?"

"What happened? What happened?" Lucius laughed, great rich ones that shook his entire body. "What didn't happen? The Dark Lord came back, ruined everything for our family, then died, and your mother seeks to blame _me_ for what has happened, knowing full well we'd all be dead if I hadn't done the things I did—and then she up and leaves! Back to her _sister_ , and that _half-breed_. Teddy, was it? Could they not have thought of anything better? How _is_ your mother by the way?"

"She's..." Draco seemed to hesitate, a space in time in which Lucius feared the worst. "She's good. Happy. She likes spending time with Teddy and Aunt Dromeda."

Lucius's tone turned bleak. "Aunt Dromeda, you say? So you, too, have accepted her back into the family?"

Draco hesitated again, studying him closely. He seemed afraid to speak, an expression so similar to the constant one he'd worn during the war that Lucius had to look away. His stomach churned and he was mildly regretting eating the leftover pizza he'd ordered yesterday. He should have listened to Dorthy when she said not to trust anything Muggle-made, 'cause anything they could do, she could do one better.

But Lucius liked Muggle pizza, and he liked Muggle ice-cream, and Muggle crisps like Doritos and Fritos. Which reminded him of burritos, which he also liked very much. Merlin, he was getting hungry again. There was nothing else so confusing as his stomach, which changed whims often and upset him greatly.

"Yes," Draco said and Lucius had to think of the question he was responding to. His mind was easily distracted these days.

"Wonderful," Lucius drawled. "What's next? You have something of your own to confess?" he asked, and was so bloody irritated, he cast out the worst scenario he could possibly envision, "You've been taking up with a Mudblood and want to announce your impeding engagement?"

Draco straightened his spine—let it be known that Lucius had never seen his son look so determined before. "Yes, Father. That's exactly what I wanted to tell you."

And that, the sound of those few words, was what made the inevitable occur; Lucius's heart began to break.

* * *

 **part one - end**

* * *

 **some acknowledgements** ; this fic received a lot of support and early care from the people in my BDSM server ( **Sublimey** , **Enbi** , **pyro-rocketeer** , **rivrivriv** , and **Iaso** ) and received editing from the aforementioned **Iaso** , who really made me confident with this first part, and also from **Bane** who, despite not knowing personally the devil's lettuce, helped fix some inaccuracies that I'd made cause I don't actually smoke weed.


End file.
